


Reverence

by lightning027 (orphan_account)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, First Time, M/M, PWP, Rimming, inappropriate use of powers, unrealistic refractory period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 23:45:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9687764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lightning027
Summary: for Valentine's Day!Eobard's afraid of the way he feels about Barry - that he feels too strongly, too deeply, and if he acts on it that Barry will reject him. Barry feels like Eo is using him, that the other doesn't truly care for him.Eobard seeks to prove him wrong.





	

He sees it as a game, not because it’s unimportant or trivial, or even because he feels the need to play the other, or to win. No, it’s a game because he acts the same way he does when he’s facing a chessboard – stone-faced and calculating, careful not to let his opponent see his intentions, careful to keep his endgame locked away. He’s lived as a chessmaster for so long, he’s nearly forgotten how to deal with anything less serious, things that typically people don’t think so hard about.

But when it comes to this, this relationship he has with Barry Allen, he has to be cautious. He can tell that Barry’s playing the game too, dancing between Eobard and his feelings, between desire, duty, and doubt. Eobard can’t blame him – he’s killed Nora Allen, and worst of all, for Barry, he doesn’t regret it for a second. They’ve talked that through at least, Eobard’s empathy (or lack thereof) for general human life, the reason why Eobard feels no remorse when he thinks about Nora Allen. They’ve had a lot of those sort of conversations, the ones that neither one of them wants to partake in, but they have to if they want whatever this to work.

It started out as Barry seeking to move on. Not to forgive, not to let Eobard off the hook in any way, but to admit that even though Eobard had done horrible things, tragic things, that Barry couldn’t hate him. From there it was learning to trust each other again, even when Caitlin and Cisco thought Barry insane for trying to get along with a murderer.

It started off innocent, it started off as healing. But one slip by Eobard, one sliver of his reverence, of how much he truly cared for Barry now, and the other’s eyes were on him, full of hope and something they both knew shouldn’t be there.

The romance was secret, and just as careful as what they had before. Eobard never made the first move, and he’s sure that Barry thinks it’s because he’s being kind, because he wants Barry to be absolutely sure he’s ready for things before they happen, because he’s trying to be good.

But that’s not the truth at all. The truth is that Eobard is scared, scared of his own emotions and just how strong they are, just how insistent and intrusive. He’s not a romantic by any means, especially after he met the Flash, all those years in the future. Ever since then, he’s never had a single soft, delicate thought, never once dreamt about running this tips of his fingers over the high points of another’s cheekbones, the exchange of air, lips millimeters apart, after a kiss.

As Harrison Wells, sex was a way that Eobard Thawne could exert his rage, his physical desire for power without having to kill. The monotony and stiffness of needing to appear as composed and calm as Harrison Wells did a number on his psyche, leaving his energy taunt and ready to snap at any moment. Enter sex, a way for him to overpower others, a way for him to satisfy both his urge for praise and power as well as the way his muscles twitch for a fight, for the sensation of another pinned underneath him. He’s never had a problem exhibiting his more primal urges, his sexual appetite, with any one-night stand, any emotionless attachment who looks pretty but can easily be cut loose the next day, without a blink or a second thought. He’s never once thought about anything more than power and control when in a sexual encounter.

But when he looks at Barry, he doesn’t feel those same urges, or at least not to the same degree. It’s something different, something _deeper._ He doesn’t simply want to take his own pleasure from Barry’s body, but rather to give that pleasure to Barry, to run his hands, his lips over every inch of the speedster’s skin, to draw noises from his lips, to spend hours simply wrapped up together, legs twisted and arms over shoulders, warmth spreading over them both. He’s never felt this way before about anyone, never since the Flash.

And he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s true that he’s holding back for Barry’s sake in some ways. But it’s less because he doesn’t think Barry would enjoy such things, and moreso because he doubts Barry would enjoy them with _him._ Rejection has always been a sore spot for Eobard, but he knows that if Barry rejected him now, it might **_destroy_** him. He feels a need to keep the mask up, the cool and collected man that needs no validation, feels nothing but a casual attraction to the other, rather than this looming fog of reverence and adoration that clouds his mind whenever Barry so much as smiles at him. The almost irresistible urge to run his hands through the other’s hair, slip his lips over his collarbone.

It drives him mad, but he knows he has to be cautious. He and Barry are still in the fledgling stages of their relationship, the entire things progressing more slowly than either of them have ever experienced, which is quite ironic for a speedster duo. They’ve technically been seeing each other romantically for around a month, and the most that’s happened is tame cuddling and hand-holding while watching movies, and a few cheek kisses, courtesy of Barry.

It’s all very controlled, and they seem to have plateaued. Barry’s hesitant to go any further, either because he’s too caught up on the past or too concerned with Eobard’s blasé expression when it comes to affection. Eobard refuses to initiate affection, worried he’d unleash his own desire and be unable to reign it in, scaring Barry off. It’s a delicate guessing game, each holding their ground, waiting for the other to make the first move, in much the way they used to fight.

But it’s different that day. It’s different when Eobard answers his door, expecting to spend the night as they usually did when they were on a date – ordering as much pizza as they wanted and watching a movie. But when he opens the door, Barry’s eyes are full of some fire that he can’t quite decipher, but he doesn’t need to, at least not much, because Barry pulls him into a kiss – their _first_ kiss.

It’s not good. Barry’s grabbed his shirt and shoved their lips together and Eobard has no time to prepare. Their noses bump, and when they finally get the angle right, Barry’s so eager that their teeth clack and Eobard can’t take that, can’t take whatever this is, and shoves him away.

“What the fuck?” is the first thing that comes out of Barry’s mouth, and he’s angry, hands curled into fists, brows furrowed. Eobard stands his ground, expression betraying nothing except perhaps a sliver of disgust.

“I could ask you the same,” Eobard responds, and he’s automatically switched into his defensive mode, the one he usually reserves for fights, usually reserves for everyone except Barry Allen.

“I thought you like it rough,” Barry all but spits, shoving Eobard right back, and as the other stumbles Barry lets himself into the house, slamming the door behind him. Eobard is quick to right himself, and now he’s shooting Barry a warning glare.

“What’s this about?” He’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

“What’s it about? What it’s about is playboy Wells fucking and dumping every last one of his partners for the past fifteen years. What it’s about is the fact that I’m just the crown jewel in your fucking collection,” and now Barry’s screaming, glaring at Eobard.

“Is all of this just a game to you? Just an elaborate scheme to say you conquered _the Flash,_ that your enemy was so weak and naïve that he just bent over for you at the slightest affection?”

It feels like some kind of knife, like if Barry had decided to vibrate his hand through Eobard’s chest, it might not have been as painful. He’d never thought that – that Barry would think something like this. He’s so meticulous, so carefully planned, that sometimes he forgets that others don’t look as closely as he does at things, they don’t understand so deeply. That the reason Barry can’t tell that Eobard’s treated him infinitely different than the others is not because he considers Barry to be a challenge or a game, but because their relationship is inherently different, something so, so much more.

At least, Eobard had hoped it would be. His face is a mask, no emotion breaching the surface even though Barry’s angry, destroyed face makes him want to do nothing more than smooth the creases with his thumbs, rub the tension out of his shoulders, kiss the frown from his lips. But Eobard does none of this, because he’s too scared, too proud, too broken.

“Is that what you think it is?” he asks, because at times like this, turning the question around on his opponent is the only thing he can think of. His voice isn’t as loud as he had wanted, isn’t as strong. He’s guarded, but there’s sadness seeping through.

However, Barry’s far too angry to notice it. He focuses only on Eobard’s words, and his frown turns to a snarl.

“Don’t you fucking do that! Don’t you treat me like I’m stupid enough to fall for that!”  Barry shoves him again, but he anticipated it, and he only has to catch his weight with a foot, maintaining his position. That seems to anger Barry even more, and with the second shove, Eobard gives up a step.

Eobard’s sadness is curdling, like it always does, into hate. He doesn’t want to lash out on Barry, he really doesn’t. He tries, he tries _so hard_ to fight it, but at his words, he knows that his tongue is about to turn vicious and his eyes an icy glare.

“What do you want me to say? _No?_ Does it really look like you’ll accept that answer?” he snaps. “Do you know why I treat you like an idiot? It’s because of times like this; because you act like one.”

Barry growls and tries to shove Eobard again, but this time he’s not taking it. He sidesteps, and Barry stumbles, catching himself before he falls, his expression even darker now.

“So you admit it? You admit that you’d just throw me away like a piece of trash?” Barry’s screaming now, his face is red and Eobard can see the water welling in his eyes, though the dam hasn’t broken yet. It makes Eobard’s own expression change, now one of bewilderment thanks to the sheer ridiculousness of Barry’s accusation.

“Did you not listen to a thing I said?” and now Eobard’s roaring right back, taking a step towards Barry, who now looks afraid, but doesn’t retreat, his lower lip quivering.

“Why do you never touch me? Why is it always me having to touch you, why do you never look at me with anything other than - than a blank face? How do you expect me to believe you?” Barry’s actually crying now, and the knife is twisting even further in Eobard’s chest. Because Barry’s right – Eo’s never once shown Barry how much he loves him, never once tried to reciprocate. He’d thought – he’d thought it was safe, he’d thought it was the best plan. Apparently he’d thought wrong.

“Barry,” it’s his tired voice, the one he uses when he’s done with Barry trying to get himself killed, done with games. He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Put yourself in my shoes. What would you do? What would you possibly do if you’d never cared for anyone before in your life?”

Barry’s startled, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Barry-“ he tries to step forward, reaches a hand out, to cup Barry’s face, but thinks better of it. Now is not the time. There may never be a time.

“How can I know.”

Eobard looks up again, and Barry’s eyes are still watery, but hopeful, determined.

“How can I know that you’re not lying? How can I trust you?”

“You can’t,” Eobard replies, stepping forward, holding Barry’s gaze even when the other looks like he wants to turn away. “I’m not going to lie to you just to make you feel better. There’s no way for you to be sure – I think we both know that no matter what I do, there’ll be doubt. And I don’t expect you to ever trust me that much.”

This relationship was a mistake. It was Eobard being selfish and stupid for _ever_ thinking that someone could love him. That he could have some sliver of happiness.

“We’re better off apart.”

And now Barry’s really crying, angry tears that rolls over his cheeks as he pounds the heel of a fist into Eobard’s chest, trying as hard as he can to control the sobs that are ripped from his throat.

“I d-don’t want you to le-leave. I want you to-to prove me wr-wrong. I want y-you to show me,” he speaks through choked sobs, looks at Eobard as if he’s so incredibly pathetic, he’s sad and angry and hopeful all at once, a set of conflicting emotions that rival Eobard’s own.

But he can’t hold back, not anymore. He can’t take seeing Barry like this, seeing him sobbing and trying desperately to hold himself together when he’s so clearly falling apart.

So he does what he wanted to, he gives in. His hands are gentle, prying away Barry’s own which seek to dry his tears, and instead he wipes them away himself, his thumb pressing over Barry’s cheekbones. It’s a moment that lasts a lifetime as Eobard simply stands there, his expression as blank as ever, but his fingers are soft and delicate and everything he is not as they smooth and soothe until every tear is wiped away, until his thumb finally finds Barry’s quivering lip and smooths over that too, and he stops, his palms against Barry’s jaw, framing his face.

When he finally meets the other’s eyes, Barry’s searching for something in his gaze, his hands shaky as they cover Eobard’s own, his stare full of questions as the tips of his finger ghost over the back of Eobard’s hands.

“I was waiting,” Eobard starts, and he can’t hold Barry’s gaze, instead looking at their hands, at Barry leaning into his touch. “I didn’t want to pressure you into anything. I know that with our history, it would take a while. I thought I was being accommodating…” it’s a half truth, as he leaves out the magnitude of his affection, the near crushing weight he feels on his chest whenever he’s near Barry, holding back.

“I thought you didn’t like me. I thought you were using me,” Barry reiterates, the sobs no longer coating his words.

Eobard’s hands, now that they’re on Barry, are getting away from him, rubbing small circles over the other’s cheek, the other trailing, feather-light, down his neck and then running through Barry’s hair, and he hears Barry’s breath hitch at the attention.

“Barry, I care about you. That’s always been the truth, and it will never change.”

That’s the sappiest Eobard’s going to get, but it seems to be enough for Barry, who, as Eobard shifts his attention, can see worrying his bottom lip, and his gaze reaches Barry’s eyes, the other doesn’t meet his stare, instead trained on Eobard’s own lips.

“If you let me,” for some reason he feels emboldened by the look on Barry’s face, the way his eyes move across Eobard’s features, not as if seeing them for the first time, but finally allowing himself to enjoy them, without shame. “.. I can show you how much I care.”

Barry responds with a smirk, and then, in a Flash, they’re in Eobard’s bedroom, and Barrys arms are wrapped around him, pulling him closer.

“Sounds like a plan,” Barry whispers across his lips before they kiss, and Eobard take the lead, Barry easily allowing him the roll, to put all of his desires of display. It’s a bit frightening, a little disconcerting that he could get away from himself so easily.

But then Barry cards a hand through his hair, nails on his scalp electric, and he wraps an arm around Barry’s hips, the other cradling his face as he deepens the kiss, nibbling on the other’s lip until he grants Eo permission. Eobard is sure to take his time, mapping each and every feature of Barry’s mouth, drawing as many moans and sighs as he can out of the other man. He almost doesn’t want it to end – Barry’s mouth is warm and inviting and the way his hands roam over Eobard’s body make him think that if Barry asked, he would happily stay like this forever.

But where Eobard is patient, Barry is not, ever the opposite. It’s he who breaks the kiss, sucking on Eo’s tongue as they part, lips spit-slick and cherry red. They foreheads bump together, and Eobard can hear their labored pants, Barry’s whisper-groaned _“Eo-“_

And then it’s like a switch is flicked in him, and he’s gentle yet firm, guiding Barry to the edge of the bed and then climbing atop him, pressing him into the sheets – red, of course they’re red because Eobard knows that Barry always looks best in red.

It’s far too intimate, far too romantic, but his slender fingers lace with the youngers as his lips move over his cheek, his jaw, his chaste kisses turning possessive, replaced by ravishing suckles and sharp nibbles, mapping the speedster’s neck and paying special attention to those area that elicit the sweetest moans, the noises that make Eobard feel as if he needs to stop, because he doesn’t deserve Barry’s voice, the nimble fingers that tighten over his, the lithe body with a rapidly rising and falling chest beneath him.

He pulls away, Barry’s adam’s apple bobbing in his periphery, and as he takes in the rest of him – lips parted as he takes in breath, eyes focused on Eobard and nothing else, beautiful green and glassy with desire, the hand that Eobard’s not holding cards through Eobard hair and he leans into it, allowing a pleased hum to escape, his eyes to close for a fraction of a second.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers, and his face shows so much more than his words ever could. There’s astonishment, at how gentle Eobard is with him, at just how reverent his touch is, the way he’s given over to his desire, his need to shower Barry in affection and praises. There’s a soft tinge of adoration, a bubble of amusement, but mostly there’s lust. Barry’s needed this, more than even he knew – he needs Eobard to show him just how much he means to Eo, how important, how loved he is.

And Eobard is happy to oblige, his thumbs dipping under the hem of Barry’s shirt even as Barry’s fingers trace the edges of Eobard’s jaw, pulls him in for a slow kiss, one that’s not so much Eobard doing the leading, but more of a dual dependency, both of their tongues working in tandem, sighing into each other’s mouths as Eobard’s palms slowly inch higher, until they have to part while Barry lifts the shirt over his head and tosses it off the edge of the bed.

Barry can’t even get a kiss in edgewise – Eobard’s already there, running his hands down Barry’s sides, peppering kisses down his neck and shoulders, firmly set on his mission, and Barry’s moan is choked with surprise when teeth and tongue lave over a nipple, grasping the sheets to ground himself.

He wants to ask the other to slow down maybe, let Barry reciprocate, so this isn’t so one-sided, but Eobard’s thumbs are rubbing along the ridges of his hipbones and his mouth – oh god, Barry’d never thought that Eobard Thawne could be so talented at finding all his weak spots, the sensitivity of his nipples, the way that a gentle sucks just below his ribs makes him squeal.

His hands thread though Eobard’s dark hair, tresses typically tamed now stuck up every which-way as he looks up from his place, eyes level with the zipper on Barry’s jeans. And when he looks up at Barry, blue eyes all but swallowed by blown out pupils, a sliver of a tongue flicking over his lips in anticipation, and if Barry’s pants weren’t uncomfortable before, they sure are now, as Eobard returns to Barry stomach, dipping a tongue into his navel and leaving another mark on his lower abdomen, which twitches under Eobard’s ministrations. Finally, slowly, he smirks, unbuttoning Barry’s jeans before gripping Barry’s zipper between his teeth, green eyes meeting blue, and Barry can’t help but bite his lip because he’d never in his life expected something like _this_ to happen.

His hands are moving constantly, mussing Eobard’s hair even further as his hips are lifted and pants slide down and off, where he reaches out helplessly until they’re are thrown off the bed and Eobard’s back with him, parting his thighs and pressing his cheek to them as if he were a particularly affectionate cat.

Barry’s gotten better at controlling his vibrations, he’s been practicing so as not to hurt his partners, but at times like this, when Eobard Thawne is sucking a hickey and his nails are teasing the insides of Barry’s thighs he can’t help but lose it a little, accidentally slip into the speed force with a moan that’s swallowed by his velocity, but it doesn’t seem to bother Eobard one bit – in fact he simply looks up from his work with a wicked smile.

It’s as if the speed force only urges him on, he drinks it up, the vibrations serving only to widen his smile as he inches closer to the one spot Barry desperately wants to be touched. His hips buck at super speed, and that only makes Eo laugh more, gripping holding them down, the vibrations still pulsing through his body.

“If you want this, you’ll have to be good, _Mr. Allen,”_ Eobard purrs, and for some reason that just spurs Barry on further, biting his lip as he suppresses another buck, precum spotting his boxer-briefs. Eobard teases him over the cloth, kissing the tip and mouthing over the length while Barry does his best to maintain eye contact with this absolutely sinful man, holding back the small sounds he’s making because how the hell is he so far gone that a simple touch to his dick and he already feels like the stimulation is too much?

Eobard presses his cheek to Barry’s thigh as his thumbs hook over his underwear, drawing them downward until Barry’s cock springs free. Eo teases them to Barry’s knees, then lifts his legs, flinging them to a corner of the room before he rests those thighs over his shoulders, eyes trained on the length before him.

Barry’s trying to quiet the vibrations, and he’d almost succeeded, until Eo feels the need to surge forward, a tease as he licks Barry base to tip, his hands disappearing under his thighs to squeeze a firm ass, a finger sliding its way between cheeks and now Barry’s biting his lips so hard it’s bleeding, his digits a vice in Eobard’s hair as plush lips finally, finally slip over the head and take him in.

Barry can’t even look at him, head thrown back and eyes closed, desperate, almost pained moans escaping as he tries his best to keep his hips stationary, to quiet the lightning that’s running through his veins and blurs his vision into golden light at the edges when he loses too much control.

Eobard’s mouth is like velvet, a slow heat as he works his way along Barry’s cock, not slow exactly, but measured, patient as he trains his mouth to the length, becomes accustomed as he bobs, tongue laving over the slit, the underside of the head, the way only someone who’s done this countless times before can achieve. And it’s working, as Barry clutches his locks, the sheets, his back arching and something sounding like a sob escaping when Eobard’s finally ready to swallow him to the base, nose buried in curls as his throat does the work for him. Barry loses control before Eobard can even dip into his bag of tricks, Barry’s hips, his hands, his sides blurring around the edges and crackling with speed force and gold lightning, until the entire room smells like ozone and Eobard has to pull away before the younger ends up phasing through the bed.

Barry’s choked whine sends a bubble of accomplishment, of pride soaring in Eobard’s chest, but he can’t revel in it just now, as he leans over Barry to his nightstand and retrieves lube from the drawer.

Caught up in the moment, heady with feelings he’s never experienced before, never so deeply – accomplishment, the feeling of being wanted, being desired and appreciated and loved, combined with pure joy, unadulterated reverence for Barry, and lust, desire, need, coating his conscious, he can’t help but let down his guard. So when his eyes catch with Barry’s who’s still coming down from his excitement, still fuzzy at the edges, Eobard looks into his eyes, full of desire and almost pleading to have them touching again, Eobard gives in and kisses him, slow and tender and hot.

“You need to learn to control yourself,” he mumbles against Barry’s lips, his words true but his tone light and teasing.

“I know, I’ve been trying,” Barry replies, and there’s a whine there, frustration at himself evident.

“Seems like I’ll have to teach you sometime,” it’s a whisper by Barry’s ear, and the speedster’s shiver is a full body one, connected to the speed force and beautiful.

“Yeah,” it’s breathy and needy and Eo never expected Barry to sound like that, but it’s enough that he smirks at the younger, who offers him a lazy, devious smile back while Eobard returns to his position between Barry’s legs, lifting them over his shoulders once more and pressing a completely out of place and chaste kiss to Barry’s inner thigh.

Barry’s pressing his head into the pillow, trying to control himself, calm his breathing and pulse so that he can look at Eobard without feeling like he’s going to burst, when he feels Eo’s tongue press somewhere he was definitely not expecting.

His head whips, eyes locking on nothing but disheveled chocolate hair as Eobard licks a stipe between Barry’s cheeks and leaves a suckling kiss over his heat, and the noise Barry makes is flustered and choked and –

“Oh _god-“_ he feels his thighs quiver as Eobard’s tongue breaches him, licks along places that Barry never though could feel so good, and then sensation is odd and _dirty_ but it’s so **_right._**

Eo soon adds a finger, cold lube a stark but not unwelcome contrast to the warmth of his tongue, and the stretch is just enough to ground Barry, keep the lightning from overwhelming him, hips rolling, calm and even to meet Eobard’s thrusts as he stretches Barry with care, reading the speedster’s body – the tense of his muscles when uncomfortable, the shaky control when he’s adapting, the twitching and shivering when it’s too good, too much.

And of course, the lightning that courses through him when Eobard brushes that spot within him with two fingers, pressing and tracing it and Barry’s hands are fisted in the sheets, shouting “Eo-!” 

The orgasm that follows rolls over him without warning, too quick for Barry to do anything but yelp and curl in on himself as he spills over his chest and stomach, Eobard’s mouth abandoning its work just so he can watch Barry come undone, the crease over his brow and the hand in his own hair as his hips spasm in aftershock, too fast for anyone other than a speedster to see.

Eo finger fucks him through it, and Barry’s moans are obscene and vulnerable and so candid, so open. Finally done dancing around affection, done hiding his darkest desires. He looks at Eobard, blue eyes half-lidded and filled with amusement, lust, adoration.  He knows that even though they have their problems, their demons and their history, that maybe if they could be open like this, open and trusting and so full of reverence that they could get through it.

It doesn’t take much besides a few thrusts from Eo, a pump from his free hand and Barry’s back in the game, clutching at Eobard’s shoulders and dragging him so they’re face level and kissing, deep and long as Eo slides a third finger in. Barry’s breath hitches, but Eo quiets him with a roll of his still-clothes hips and now Barry’s trying to fix that problem, hands crackling with speed, both of them a whirl of red and yellow lightning as their hands work overtime to undress Eobard, cleaning Barry in the process. And then they press together, skin on skin, Barry’s hands sliding over Eobard’s biceps and shoulders, mapping the muscles of his back as their hips roll into time with Eo’s fingers, the older panting too now, and with a sinful grind Eo’s moaning into Barry’s shoulder, scarlet lightning courses over his body for a split-second, the fingers inside Barry circling and it’s almost too much for them both.

“I think you need to learn to control yourself, Eobard,” it’s a husky whisper in his ear and it turns Eo to putty, burying his face in Barry’s neck. He feels the laugh in Barry’s chest, the vibration of his throat, the breath over his temple. But Eobard’s nothing but petty, and the chuckle sticks in Barry’s throat and is replaced with a startled moan as Eo’s fingers begin to vibrate, pulsing as they reach Barry’s prostate and then Barry’s writhing, his form even blurrier than before. His legs kick up and wrap around Eobard, pulling their bodies even closer as Barry loses his mind, unsure if he should thrust against the other’s toned stomach or impale himself on those perfect fingers.

“I think I can control myself _perfectly,_ Mr. Allen,” Eo’s voice is low and deep and absolutely wrecked, and Barry’s pretty sure that his nails, firmly secured in the speedster’s back, draw blood as he babbles.

“Eo- I – ah _oh god,_ I’m g-gonna-“ the words distorted by speed, too fast for human ears, but Eobard does nothing except speed up the vibrations in his hands, now concentrating them to the tips of his fingers and pulsing as he thrusts harder, hitting Barry’s prostate every time, punctuating it with a sharp bite to the junction of Barry’s neck and shoulder, and somehow that doesn’t do anything but add to the pleasure, the sensations washing over him in waves as he comes, and this time he can fully enjoy it, gasp and sigh as it envelops him and Eobard as well, the older letting out a strangled moan as they spill over each other.

Barry’s hands are shaking as they cup Eobard’s face, licking his lips as he draws the other, boneless against him, into a kiss, Barry leading, tongue fucking Eo through the aftershocks until the other returns to the here and now, groans into the kiss and grabs a tissue to clean them up.

“Up for round three?” Eo murmurs, crumpling and tossing it after he’s done. Barry’s smile is wrecked and lazy and completely sated, but he bucks into Eobard, both of them hard again thanks to their speedster metabolism.

“What do you think?” Barry chuckles, and the sass is endearing to Eo, who draws the other in for a quick but deep kiss before he pulls away, grabbing the discarded lube and popping the cap as he sits back on his heels.

Like this, Barry can finally appreciate him properly – the mussed, just-fucked beautiful mess that was his dark hair, his eyes, pupils blown over sky blue and glazed over in the best way. Lips, plump and red from kissing as his pink, sinful, talented tongue peeks out to wet them. Strong shoulders and smooth, muscled arms, dark hair present but not overwhelming, peppered over toned chest and forearms, smooth and defined planes of stomach, abs present but not as prominent as Barry’s own. And finally, the dark hair that begins at Eobard’s navel and thickens as his eyes travel lower, his cock, thick and standing at attention as Eo’s hands, calloused in all the right ways, strong and dexterous, smooth the lube over it.

He notices Barry staring, the way his green eyes are glazed over, his bottom lip worried between his teeth as he takes in the sight. He raises an eyebrow, dons a smirk as he fucks into his hand and watches Barry’s expression, the bold desire, uninhibited and deep and everything Eobard had ever hoped for, ever wanted.

It takes a moment before Barry’s eyes meet Eo’s again, and his eyes widen in surprise and embarrassment before he smirks back and whacks Eo in the thigh, both laughing.

Eo is the first to compose himself again, wrapping Barry’s left leg around his hip, the other thrown over his shoulder as he lines up with his hole, a small grind and thrust teasing Barry back into the mood, and he catches Eobard’s bottom lip with his teeth as the speedster leans forward again, and he pushes in slow and steady, the stretch uncomfortable, but not painful, overshadowed by Eo’s hand on his dick and his tongue in his mouth, showing him _exactly_ what he’s planning.

The wait is worth it when Eobard bottoms out, and they both sigh, Eobard at the velvet heat surrounding him, the feel of Barry almost too much for him; and for Barry the feeling of being so full and complete is intoxicating.

The tempo starts with a slow grind, Eo testing the waters and wanting to see Barry squirm, Barry adjusting to the sensations – Eo’s cock teasing over that spot inside of him, his own member trapped between their stomachs, the friction solid and so _good_ but at the same time not enough. Barry finds himself groaning and bucking into Eo’s movements, and that prompts the older to speed up, draw out until only the head of his cock remains and slam into Barry, who cries out and tries to meet the thrusts, his own a little off-tempo, a little too frantic as they create a rhythm, Eobard hitting Barry’s prostate with each thrust, the heat in Barry’s gut pooling and he’s losing it, the speed force is enveloping him and Eo feeds into it, falling into the vibrations himself, matching Barry’s frequency as if it were the easiest thing in the world as their lightning crackles together, dances over skin and their moans just add to the sounds of the speed force enveloping them both.

It’s electric, it’s almost too much as Eobard lets himself go, his moans as loud and clear as Barry’s now, brow furrowed in concentration and pleasure as he thrusts, his movements which were once deep and measured now shorter, more frantic. His hand finds Barry’s dick and vibrates faster, stimulating them even as they both feel the sting of electricity in their veins. Barry can’t help his back arching violently when Eo abuses his prostate, makes him scream his name, one hand dragging nail down Eo’s back and the other tugging at his hair. He feels rather than hears Eo’s husky moan when he tugs just right, feels the way the older speedster fucks deeper, harder, and they’re both falling, letting go of themselves and their insecurities and everything beyond the here and now – the future, the past, none of it matters as the speed force cocoons them and Barry’s voice goes hoarse from screaming, Eo nipping along his neck as he buries himself deep.

“Oh, _Barry-“_ it’s low and long and deep, and it trails into a wicked moan as Eo spills inside him, fucking Barry through the orgasm, his hand pulsing faster, his hips bucking deeper as he pulls Barry over with him, and Barry sees stars, he can’t even remember what he moans, if it were Eo’s name or god’s. But it doesn’t matter as they both slow, the lightning fizzling out as they calm down, their bodies no longer fuzzy at the edges.

They stay there for a moment, Eo’s face nuzzled into Barry’s shoulder, Barry’s head tilted back as he tries to catch his breath, fingers trailing lazily over Eobard’s back as it falls and rises in time with his breathing, slowing until they’re both calm again. Eo pulls out and they both groan at the loss, but it’s necessary as Eo flops on the sheets next to Barry and the other curls in on him, hand laid over Eo’s heart, head on his shoulder for a moment of calm, a moment of serenity before Eobard will eventually herd them both to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

And Barry can’t help but get lost in his thoughts, replay every soft, reverent, idolizing look, every gentle hand on him, every love bite and every way Eobard moaned, open and true and for the first time Barry knows that Eo can’t have faked that, would have never let himself be so vulnerable and open in front of Barry unless he really, truly cared for him.

And even though he sees Eobard swallow, can feel the tension crawling back into his lover’s shoulders and face, knows that the older man isn’t ready to say it out loud or acknowledge it outside of this, but _Barry_ knows. Eobard’s taught him a lot of things, taught him how to run, how to believe himself, and how to tell what Eobard means without him having to speak.

And so Barry smiles and nuzzles closer, knowing that Eobard really, truly, loves him.

**Author's Note:**

> I know that the events leading up to Eo and Barry's first time can be seen as problematic, but that's how they are - they're a little dysfunctional and not at all perfect, and I wanted to convey that in the story.


End file.
